


Watercoloured Love

by sebasent



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU maybe, Angst, F/M, One-Sided Love, Re-write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebasent/pseuds/sebasent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loved her; He loved her so very much. And he thought of her, the smell of perfume staining his thoughts and making him feel drowsy with grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watercoloured Love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Watercoloured Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065821) by [leviathaneren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathaneren/pseuds/leviathaneren). 



> #tbt  
> Oh my god, oh my god. it's been four years since i started writing (in general), what is life? happy anniversary to me!!  
> as celebration i re-wrote some old stuff from 2013. Check out the original [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1065821)  
> enjoy!

He paints her and sketches her, in all of her forms, kinds, and genders.

He paints her as all she was worth. He paints her as a house, as a field, as a mountain, as an ocean. He can only think of her and all of his mistakes, blurred in the soft lights of dawn but present and ominous, like electricity crackling in the air.

He paints her as tears, and as a little, defenceless girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes and a smile that was worth the entire world in gold.  
  
The critics all love her, of course; he made her his muse because if he was going to waste away in her shadow he may as well make something beautiful out of it, in the only way he knows how: in pastels and oleos and acrylics, all perfect, all shining, all so not like her but also from her very  
core.

He paints her as all he can see and all he wishes he could have: clouds, roses, clear skies, pretty olive skin coloured with an even prettier blush. He makes her to be all he knows she can be: an angel and a demon, grotesque but also fine, beautiful in all the wrong ways.

He draws her like he knows she is, too, all bloody, sad, gnarled, and tired, with the world on her shoulders and the weight so big she crumbles with every step.

He knows that it is the weight he himself carries, but he doesn't think about it much. He refuses to.

He mourns her as much as he can. He does not allow himself to brood, but the late-night phone calls he makes are stark on his bill, taunting and horrible.

Those are the nights he dreads the worst.

He tells her he loves her, every time. He knows she doesn't listen, but he tells her either way, and he at least hopes that her eyes are as wet as his and her voice cracks with his name, too.

 

_~_

 

 _And just like a watercolour painting left out in the rain, he can feel his heart melt and slip away, his once vibrant colours fading and creating an ugly smear in the white canvas of what used to be his soul_.

**Author's Note:**

> i only re-wrote the first part because the second was almost complete bs. wow. 
> 
> my writing tumblr is @coolerthan0k! come celebrate with me!!


End file.
